


Forget Me Not

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Ghost!Derek, Oops, Pack Feels, TW: Suicide, flower crowns because why not, ghost!stiles, i write stupid things when i'm tired, it's really not heavy slash, wow i guess i have a thing for ghost!stiles now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thin boy with shaggy hair dances through the field of fragile white flowers, the flora paying no mind to his swaying limbs as they greedily take in the fading sunlight. </p><p>A deep, rumbling growl sounds from the forest, making the frolicking teenager still. He swivels his body in the direction of the sound, his honey-colored eyes spotting a tall, dark figure lurking in the shadows.</p><p>"Derek?" he calls, his mouth falling open in a comically exaggerated expression.<br/>A large, muscled form steps into view, blood dripping down his face. The maroon liquid is also leaking from his chest and neck, smearing across his stomach and seeping out of deep gashes. He stares at the teenager with wide, stricken eyes, all  traces of anger leaving his face. "Stiles?" The voice that escapes this man is weak, broken, as if the name was physically ripped from his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Me Not

A thin boy with shaggy hair dances through the field of fragile white flowers, the flora paying no mind to his swaying limbs as they greedily take in the fading sunlight. 

A deep, rumbling growl sounds from the forest, making the frolicking teenager still. He swivels his body in the direction of the sound, his honey-colored eyes spotting a tall, dark figure lurking in the shadows.

"Derek?" he calls, his mouth falling open in a comically exaggerated expression.  
A large, muscled form steps into view, blood dripping down his face. The maroon liquid is also leaking from his chest and neck, smearing across his stomach and seeping out of deep gashes. He stares at the teenager with wide, stricken eyes, all traces of anger leaving his face. "Stiles?" The voice that escapes this man is weak, broken, as if the name was physically ripped from his throat.

A grin splits the teenager's face, and he rushes forward to embrace the bloodied man, his pale image flickering for a moment as he runs.  
Suddenly, the angry look is back on Derek's face. He steps backwards, away from Stiles, his eyes gleaming red as he stares at the boy. "What are you doing here?" he snarls.

"Whoa! Calm down, Cujo. You're the one who approached me first. I was just minding my own business here, amongst the Forget-Me-Nots," Stiles defends, raising his eyebrows in defense.

A growl of warning escapes Derek again. "No, Stiles. What are you doing here?" he spits out.

"Oh! You mean here!" Stiles repeats, nodding.

Derek simply glares in response, knowing that the younger man is just stalling for time.  
With a sigh, Stiles holds up his thin wrists. On each wrist is a deep gouge, blood sluggishly pulsing out of each one. "That reminds me. Why is it that we still bleed here? I mean, it's not like we're still al-- Derek, why are you making that face?" Stile asks, taking a cautious step forward.

Derek has gone pale, his expression blank once again. His eyes are zeroed in on Stiles's wrists, as if he can't comprehend the wounds there. "What did you do?" his voice, so lost and tired, asks.

Stunned, Stiles lowers his arms. "I--"

"Stiles, what the hell did you do?!" Derek roars, and suddenly all of his emotions are back online. His face twists with anger, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides like he can't decide whether or not he wants to eviscerate the boy in front of him. 

"Did it ever occur to you how selfish your actions were? Did you ever stop for one moment to think about how... doing this would affect everyone else? What about your dad, Stiles? What the fuck do you think he's going to do, now that he's alone in the world? How do you think he'll feel when he's planning your funeral and not your graduation party?

"What about Scott? How is he supposed to cope with the loss of his best friend? You were like his family, Stiles! Or were you too dense to realize that? Did you ever stop, for even two seconds, and just think--"

Derek's rant is cut off by Stiles's tearful outburst. "Not everyone can die a heroic death like you!"

It's Derek who startles this time, and Stiles takes the silence that follows as an invitation to continue, his hands--too big, he had yet to grow into them (except now he never would)--threading through the messy hair atop his head.

"Derek Hale, always one for dramatics, dies heroically one night to save the lives of his pack! Call the papers! Alert the nation! 'Brilliant, Brave, Macho Alpha Goes Down in a Hail of Wolfsbane Bullets All for Love!'" Stiles pauses for a moment to breathe.

"Well, guess what? His death doesn't solve everything. Newsflash! Big shocker! His pack has to bury their alpha! Scott can't be a teenager anymore because, oh yeah, he's an alpha now and he has to take care of other teenage werewolves even though he barely knows how werewolfitude works himself!

"Scott drops out of high school—Bye, bye, education—because he's a good person who only cares about others. Even though he's terrified, he looks after every-fucking-body else because he's Scott!

"Suddenly, there's a lot more death and crime in Beacon Hills, because guess what? Scott's only seventeen! He can't deal with all of this! And when there's crime and murder, the authorities are there! 

"This all means that Stiles, the pathetic little human, is left behind. His best friend is an alpha taking care of a grieving pack, and for some reason none of them want Stiles around! They avoid him like the plague! Stiles's daddy is gone, too, fighting CRIME and being a BADASS! But Stiles can deal. See, I've been alone before." The teen's raving is cut short by a choked sound that turns into a sob.

"What I can’t handle is my dad being killed by creatures of the night. What I can't handle is being completely forgotten by people I thought were my friends, left to grieve not only my broody alpha crush, but my dad's death, too, all by myself! Being an orphan! All alone with no one—"  
Stiles chokes on a sob again, and he knows that if his he was alive, his heart would be racing and his breath would be shallow. He takes a moment to wipe tears from his cheeks before he stares Derek dead (no pun intended) in the eyes.

"So Stiles died a coward's death. No supernatural creatures, no rain of bullets or clashing of swords— just a lonely, scared little boy all alone in a bathroom with a knife."

Stiles can't see anymore, his vision blurry with tears. His face is streaked with a rust color from when he wiped his face with bloody hands.

Suddenly, there are arms around him, holding him close and gently shushing him. "Stiles, you're an idiot," Derek whispers, but it's mournful and empty.  
Stiles just cries into Derek's shoulder, his sobs muffled by the torn, black fabric hanging off the bloody, muscled frame.

~*~

Stiles wakes some time later, laying in the white meadow beside a familiar, broody form. Derek's arm is wrapped protectively around Stiles's torso, as if holding him will stop the teen's pain. The werewolf is sleeping, his face surprisingly peaceful in his rest.

"Huh. So we can still sleep here. How does that work?" he mutters.

"I wouldn't think about it too hard if I were you, sweetie," a warm voice replies.

Stiles looks to the sound of the voice to see his mother, features as smooth and bright as they had been in life. 

Stiles's eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat as he tries to say the word he'd chalked up as taboo for so long. "Mom?"

Mrs. Stilinski's long, chocolate hair sways gently as she approaches her son, gently shushing him. "Sweetheart, did you ever wonder why you came to be in a field of forget-me-nots?" she asks quietly, cradling Stiles's face in her gentle hands.

Stiles shakes his head slowly, afraid that the moment will end if he speaks.

A soft smile appears on Mrs. Stilinski's face. "Think about it, honey. I know how smart you are," she whispers.

"...They never forgot about me, did they? The pack, I mean. Those...those casseroles that kept appearing on my doorstep. I knew they reminded me of Mrs. McCall's cooking," Stiles whispers.

Mrs. Stilinski sits down in front of Stiles, nodding patiently. She picks a few flowers from the ground, fiddling with them as she speaks. "Yes. And the boxes of ramen noodles that were always in the cupboards? That was Vernon. Always practical. The air fresheners in your car? Well, that was...Jackson. He tried, sweetie. You wouldn't believe how long it took him to pick out new car scent.

"If you would have checked your college fund, you would have found a large amount of money there from your old crush, Lydia. She knew you were the only one as smart as she was, and she wanted you to have a future, too, even if things weren't going so well.  
Danny always made sure you had recent updates on your laptop, Isaac left several knick knacks around your house, hoping that you'd notice them. Erica even added some batman and Catwoman to the mix—but you never did see. You were always so upset... in too much pain..." Mrs. Stilinski stops, tears rising in her eyes as she looks at the boy who had to grow up way too fast.

"But... why didn't they want to see me? They always stayed so far away..." Stiles murmurs, confused.  
Mrs. Stilinski sighs and looks down at the flowers she's been twisting together in her delicate hands. "They were just trying to keep you safe, little one. Always keeping you safe," she replies.

She stands and places the crown of forget-me-nots on Stiles's head. "They planted these beautiful little things on your grave because they never wanted anyone to forget you, sweetheart. You know, Robin's just as important as Batman in the end. Maybe if you'd stuck around, you could have become Nightwing." With that, the woman kisses her child's forehead and straightens up. She smiles one last time before her image fades, leaving Stiles staring forlornly in the space where she had been.  
Stiles turns and shakes Derek awake, blinking away tears. "Hey, Sour Wolf. Get up, okay? We have to find some blue forget-me-nots to match your sad personality," he whispers, his voice cracking a little as his joke falls flat. Because if Stiles has to wear a flower crown, he's going to make the Big, Bad Wolf wear one, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for how sudden the ending was. It's far too late for me to actually be writing. 
> 
> //wow this is actually so awful. I kind of regret posting it, but I did it as a gift for a friend, so...


End file.
